A Prayer For You
by Emziana
Summary: A one-shot tale of the Commander of the Inquisition. Whilst seeking water on a hot summer's night, he discovers something far more desirable. If people like it, I will write a heated sequel. Characters belong to Bioware.


**Flying solo with this one. I just had the idea and wanted to write it down. Hope you like it.**

 **A Prayer For You**

Cullen sat up abruptly in his bed, sweat draping him in a damp shroud. He pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes in the hope of forcing the demon's smile out of his memory. The pounding of his heart pierced his ears like thunder and the familiar headache returned. He could barely remember a time when he didn't feel his brain thumping against his skull, stabbing his forehead relentlessly. Slowly, his breathing relaxed and he maneuvered to the edge of his bed, reaching for the glass of water he always kept there. The sound of glass shattering forced a curse from his lips as he realised that his hands were still shaking. With a stress-weighted sigh, he snatched his brown leather trousers and linen shirt off the floor and swiftly dressed.

Summer in Skyhold made the nights far warmer than a hot-blooded Ferelden could ever get used to. He usually slept partially clothed, a habit he had picked up from his Templar training days, where they could be woken up in the middle of the night for drills. Cullen's room was normally flawless when it came to tidiness, but the last few nights had been so unbearable, he had been awoken by the heat and thus stripped his clothing until he lay as the Maker had designed him, littering his quarters with armour and cloth. The only relief he was granted was the occasional breeze which blew down from the hole in the roof. He gazed up into it and saw that the moon was waning and barely visible. Deciding that the likelihood of being seen was doubtful in the dim light, he removed his shirt once more but attached his belt and sword before rushing down the ladder to his office.

As he opened the door to the right battlements, a relieving breeze washed over him, and he stopped for a moment to bask in it. Not wishing to be stopped or asked anything by anyone, he thought it best to visit the garden fountain for some water which would mostly likely be deserted at this late hour. He was still gathering his thoughts after what had been a harrowing nightmare and didn't want to speak to anyone until he was at his best. So many people now relied upon him; his men, his fellow advisers and...the Inquisitor. He would be lying if he said his most recent thoughts of her had been strictly professional. In truth, the more time they spent together, the more his feelings grew beyond those of admiration and curiosity. She was the best of them, a woman who was willing to risk her own life for the lives of everyone under her charge. It had been three weeks since he had carried her back into camp, wrapped in his fur cloak, her skin icy to the touch. It was in those dark hours, on the brink of losing her, that his true feelings for her had made themselves known. And what had he done about them? Absolutely nothing. He rationalised that his inaction was due to her title and that it would be inappropriate, but if he were to be truly honest with himself, he knew that fear was the only barrier between silence and confession. He was as afraid of his emotions now as he had been when talking to a mage in Kinloch Hold many years ago. He was terrified that he would lose another person he cared for and had spent years building a wall around his heart, keeping anyone from getting close to him. He had even ignored letters from his sister and family in the hope that the distance would protect them. After losing so many friends when Ferelden's circle fell, he couldn't bare it if...

Cullen found himself in the garden, his feet having carried him there whilst his mind wandered to spaces that he tried to ignore. Quietly he walked over to the fountain and knelt down, closing his eyes and splashing his face with it's contents. Water droplets trickled pleasantly down his back and his chest, coating the small patch of golden hair which lay there. A moan rushed past his lips, forcing his eyes open as he sat there still, like a deer in an open field. As he listened for footfalls, his ears picked up on a muffled song which floated through the air from the Chantry. He looked over to the room which had been hastily cleaned and adorned with candles when the pilgrims had begun to flock to their gates. There was a yellow glow framing the door where it stood slightly ajar. Cullen felt it would be improper to interrupt someone in prayer, and yet his curiosity pulled his feet towards the source of the music. As he neared the Chantry, the melody enraptured him as he marvelled at the tone of the voice which sang so sincerely. Whoever this woman was, she should be singing in the Inn for everyone to hear, not hiding away with only Andraste for company.

Enchanted, Cullen slowly pushed on the oak, and instantly felt his jaw drop at the sight of familiar ebony curls and the scent of embrium. It was _her._ The sweet melody came from the lips of their Inquisitor. He stood in the doorway, speechless and lost as the woman continued to sing.

"Istoladah si nomei,

Mehla, mehla,

Istoladah si nomei,

Ooh, ni Tanya

Mehla, Vihla,

Denya, linya, saliva

Templa."

"Templar?" mouthed Cullen, allowing his breathing to settle back into it's usual rhythm. He had no idea as to the song's meaning, but a slither of hope grew in his heart that she may have been singing about him, which meant that she was thinking about him. He shook his head, beginning to doubt, when he over balanced and pushed the door open further, which creaked loudly. He barely had time to straighten up as the music ceased and the Inquisitor spun round to face him. He noticed how wide her beautiful hazel eyes were in the candlelight, how rosey her complexion was in the summer heat. Then he became aware of her eyes resting on his chest and he cursed once more. He wanted the breach to reopen and swallow him to preserve some of his dignity.

Growing more self-aware by the second, Cullen gripped the hilt on his sword tightly in his left hand, whilst resting his right on the pommel, trying to think of something to say to break the tension that was irradiating from the two of them. He cleared his throat and took in a breath, but his words failed him. The Inquisitor was now looking away at the candles on the wall, playing with the ties of her nightwear. Cullen watched her fingers fiddle, finally taking in that she was also dressed for the heat in a light-weight semi-translucent bed-robe. That evening was now a first for many reasons, both of them seeing more of each other than they ever had. Then the thought of someone else seeing them together and half-dressed made him shut the Chantry door, only realising how that would appear to the Inquisitor when he met her gaze. Now they were both blushing as the tension continued to rise.

Finally, she spoke. "Commander."

His response was automatic, "Yes, Inquisitor?"

"Is there something you wish of me?" He voice was edged with nerves as she tried to remain professional.

Cullen fought through the thoughts that were playing in his head, and tried to think of something unrelated.

"I_I was just coming to...to pray. I couldn't sleep due to this blasted heat, and thought to...oh Maker's Breath!" It was no use. His feelings and the temperature in the room now that he had shut the breeze out meant that he could not even fathom a reason for his presence, other than the truth. The Inquisitor seemed to sense his cloaked behaviour and turned her gaze to the stone floor.

"Could...Did you hear me singing?"

Cullen gulped and sighed, "Yes."

"Oh." Breathed the Inquisitor, her voice becoming a whisper. Her demeanour was so different to the professional leader he was accustomed to. Before him, she looked shy and unsure, her skin pale and her cheeks aglow. He smiled sympathetically down at her, knowing that they were equally uncertain of what they should do next. He thought on her words and felt a sprig of courage bloom from his heart.

"You have a beautiful voice, Inquisitor."

The mage shuffled uncomfortably at the compliment. "Well...Thank you."

"I do not believe I have heard that song before. Is it Dalish?" Cullen persisted, wrestling between the urge to run and the wish to know more about the Inquisitor he was so fond of.

The Inquisitor nodded, keeping her focus on the stone at her feet. Cullen sighed as the more he spoke, the more distant she seemed. Maybe it would be best if he left? He did not wish to cause her grief, and so he bowed and muttered "Goodnight", turning to rest his hand on the door handle.

"It's a love song." Confessed the mage, drawing Cullen's attention back into the room. Her words sent his mind into such a spin that he had to shake it to regain his composure.

"I'm sorry?" He inquired, swallowing hard as she closed the gap between them. Maker! She took his breath away as the candlelight made the green shine more brightly than the brown in her eyes, like the sunlight breaking through the trees in a forest.

"The song I was singing. It's a Dalish love song. When I was living in Ostwick's Circle, before the rebellion, one of my friends was originally from a Dalish tribe in the Free Marches. She was caught thieving from one of the villages and when she tried to use her magic to escape, the Templars brought her to Ostwick. Although she grew to love the Circle and it's teachings, sometimes she would confide in me how much she missed being away from her family; a feeling we both shared. She would teach me the songs of her clan so that neither of us would feel alone." The Inquisitor paused for a moment, turning away from the Commander. Cullen felt a little disheartened that she was singing for her lost friend and no one...closer, but he was still happy to listen to her voice regardless of his unrequited feelings. As the mage approached the statue of Andraste, Cullen heard her sigh deeply, before spinning on her heels, shrouded in confidence.

"Am I just a mage to you?" Her tone was almost accusatory, but her eyes appeared more disappointed than angry. Cullen was struck dumb for a few moments at her sudden outburst, and tried to gather his thoughts so he could understand her meaning.

"What? Er, no. No. You're the Inquisitor. Why would you think...?" At his words, she went to leave the Chantry, but his back had come to rest on the door whilst she had been talking and prevented her from making a swift exit. She kept her hand on the door handle and Cullen watched a couple of tears fall from her cheek. He must have upset her, but he was clueless as to how. Nevertheless, it hurt him to see her cry, and he reached out to grab her arm when she attempted to open the door again.

"Evelyn. What's wrong?" He had scarcely spoken her name, and never had he done so in her presence before. He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but it got her to look at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Maker, no. Her tears were the worst possible torture.

"Cullen, I care for you, but...could you ever think of me as more than the leader of the Inquisition? More than an apostate?"

And in that moment, Cullen felt his world change. His expression softened as relief consumed him, knowing that she felt something for him and hoping that it was as intense as his feelings for her.

"I could, I mean, I do...care for you. I have wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn't think it were possible that...that you...would..." His words were lost against her lips, as he grasped the back of her head with his hands and closed the gap between them. Oh, the kiss was everything that he had hoped for. Her lips were soft and as sweet as the plum wine she was fond of. Her hair was soft too, entwined around his fingers. She pressed her body into his, her breasts crushing against his rock-hard chest. She weaved her arms around him and began to stroke his back, causing his body to stutter. He moaned into her mouth and she parted her lips at his unspoken request. As his tongue explored hers, sending a tingling sensation to his loins, he lowered his right hand to grip her hip, drawing her thighs against him, where his hardened need for her made itself known to both of them. Suddenly aware, he pulled himself away from her delicious lips and tried to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry. That was...really nice." He fought to suppress a growl as she returned her right thigh to press against him. He closed his eyes briefly at the rich heat which bubbled south of his abdomen. When he opened them again, he felt the fear race through him once more as Evelyn gazed lustfully upon him.

"That...was what I wanted." She purred.

Oh how he wanted this woman. Only the Maker himself knew how much. But they were in the Chantry, and although his Templar days were far behind him, he still knew right from wrong, no matter how right it would initially feel. And still, she persisted in grinding her thigh against him, rubbing her chest against his. He drew on his strength of will to resist her and his own temptations, when the pain of his headache crippled him, forcing him to his knees.

"Cullen?!" Cried Evelyn, as she dropped down to him. "What is it?"

He gazed up at her from under his hands which gripped his temples. In trying to resist her, he had taken himself back to Kinloch Hold, allowing his body's desire for lyrium to scream at him. The pain in his head was so intense, he could barely see her worried expression.

"It's because of the lyrium, isn't it?" She realised aloud.

Cullen tried to speak, but to do so only added to the pain, and so he nodded feebly. He felt her grab his hands and attempt to pull him to his feet.

"We need to get you some water. Come on." She said in earnest, but the ache ripped his mind apart, causing him to pull his hands away and clutch is head as an agonised cry forced its way past his teeth. He rocked slowly back and forth, feeling ashamed that he had allowed her to see him like this.

Then relief coursed through his veins as icy hands massaged his scalp and brow. Her lyrium fuelled magic calmed his body's craving whilst her cool fingers danced through his hair. He felt a smile spread across his lips as he moaned, finally free of the torment that had plagued him daily for months. Slowly he felt her withdraw her hands and from behind his eyelids he saw the light blue glow vanish. In the absence of his hurt, his heart swelled with the realisation that he loved this woman, and that it was alright for him to feel this way.

With his eyes still closed and relishing his new found peace, they quickly startled open as Evelyn's lips rediscovered his. Her warmed hands wound round his neck and played with his hair, encouraging him to deepen the kiss and allow their tongues to waltz once more. He rose on his knees, causing her to tilt her head to maintain their closeness, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, not wanting to let her go. Just as his trousers grew too confining, she pulled away slightly, allowing the pair of them to catch their breath.

"Cullen...I think...I think I may be falling for you." She confessed as her chest heaved, still breathless.

The Commander smiled a wolfish grin and chuckled.

"Good, because I believe I have already fallen." His voice was so low and deep, so laced with desire that he barely recognised it as his. He stared lovingly into her eyes as she smiled, before reclaiming her mouth with his own.


End file.
